


The Way of Things

by mithrel



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Blanket Permission, M/M, Podfic Welcome
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-09-20
Updated: 2010-09-30
Packaged: 2017-10-31 00:56:59
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 4
Words: 6,299
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/338137
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mithrel/pseuds/mithrel
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Planet of The Angels AU. Dean ends up in a strange place that's entirely populated by what looks like humans with wings. He's taken prisoner by one of the winged people. It calls itself Castiel.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [sycophantastic](https://archiveofourown.org/users/sycophantastic/gifts).



What the hell?

Dean looks around. One minute he’d been in the woods after a wendigo and the next he’s standing in the middle of a field.

OK, stranger things had happened to him. Just figure out where he is, and then he can see about getting back.

He catches sight of a figure in the distance, silhouetted by the moon, and drops flat, because until he finds out otherwise he’s going to assume anything around is hostile.

He peers up through the tall grass and feels his mouth drop open. The figure looks like a perfectly ordinary human, (well, ordinary if you ignore the freaking _armor_ ) but it has _wings._ Actual feathery wings sprouting from its shoulders. They look like they’d be about six feet fully spread.

And, alright, maybe he’s in deeper shit than he’d first thought, since he’s never heard of winged people before.

***

He spends the next week or so scavenging for food, trying to keep his head down. He’s seen several more of the winged people, all in armor, and no regular humans.

The winged people seem to have a warrior society. Dean’s seen them sparring, or going out and coming back at the end of the day with weird animals slung over their shoulders.

Dean has seen some of them working in the fields, taking animals to pasture, that sort of thing.

But those people don’t have wings.

He knows they’re not regular humans, though, since they never wear shirts, and he can see the horrible scar tissue (and, in some cases, still-healing wounds) on their backs where their wings have been ripped off.

That freaks him out more than anything else. If they do that to their own people, what will they do to him?

When he sees a party coming back with winged people in slightly different-looking armor shackled together he figures it out. They’re slaves that they captured, maybe from other tribes.

He manages to keep out of sight for three weeks before his luck runs out.

***

He doesn’t have much with him. His clothes, a knife, a gun and the flaregun he was going after the wendigo with. He doesn’t dare use the gun for fear of being heard, and he doesn’t exactly know how to hunt animals anyway, so he’s been reduced to stealing food. Dangerous as hell, but better than starving.

He’s in the woods on the edge of one of the fields, waiting for an opportunity to snatch something (since the wingless people may be handicapped, but he figures they can still kill him). He hasn’t had any meat in weeks, and it’s made him slow.

He’s almost back to the trees when he’s lifted off his feet.

He struggles and manages to wrestle himself around enough to see one of the winged people holding him by the back of his jacket.

“Who are you? You are not a _chaltenya._ ”

“Not a what?” Dean gestures at the people in the field. “You mean one of them?”

The wings of the person who caught him flutter slightly, throwing off iridescent highlights from the black feathers. He’s wearing armor like the rest of them, what looks like hardened leather, and he’s got a wicked sword slung at his side. “Where do you come from?”

“Uh…America?” He’s not about to mouth off when a guy with a foot-and-a-half long sword has him suspended off the ground.

“I have not heard of that place. Where is your clan? What happened to your wings?”

“I don’t have a clan.” Not anymore. Just Dad and Sam, and Sam left, went off to play Ivy League… “And I never had wings.”

“What?”

Dean stumbles as he’s dropped to the ground. “Remove your shirt.”

“Say _what?_ ” Because, sword or not, he’s not taking off his clothes.

But it turns out he doesn’t need to, since the guy slices through his shirt, spins him around and runs his hands over his shoulderblades. Despite everything, Dean represses a shiver.

“You are not a _chaltenya._ But you are not a _kalethin._ ” He sounds confused.

“A what or a who?” But a moment later he figures it out. The _chaltenya_ are the slaves, so the _kalethin_ must be like this guy. Dean doesn’t know if it’s an affiliation or a status, but he supposes it doesn’t matter.

“Come with me.”

“Hey, wait a minute–”

The sword comes up again, to point at his throat. Dean gulps and does as he’s told.

***

His captor takes him to the attic of a small cottage. It’s barely large enough to stand up in, and completely bare. The only light comes in through a dusty window near the peak of the roof. “You will remain here.”

“Like hell I will! I have to get home!”

“You will remain here,” the guy repeats, steel in his voice, and Dean subsides.

“Who are you?”

“Considering you are the intruder here I think I should be asking the questions. How did you come here?”

“I…don’t know. One minute I was home, the next minute I’m in a world full of winged freaks!”

The guy shoves him against the wall, hand at his throat. “Considering you are alone here, I would moderate your tone. You are the only one without wings here. Even the _chaltenya_ were born with them. I think you would be more worthy of the name than we.”

“OK, OK, you’re right, I’m sorry,” Dean gurgles, and the guy lets him up. Dean coughs, rubbing his throat. He’s probably gonna have bruises.

“What are you called?”

“What? Uh…Dean. Dean Winchester.”

The guy nods. “Deanwinchester. I am called Castiel.”

“Uh…you can just call me Dean.”

“Dean. Alright. You need to remain here. If you’re seen you will most likely be killed.”

Dean swallows. “So why didn’t you kill me?” he asks, his mind screaming about gift horses.

“Would you have wanted me to?”

“What? N-no, I just…” Dean slumps to the ground. He’s barely eaten anything in weeks.

The guy–Castiel–disappears, but he’s back a few minutes later. He sets a plate in front of Dean.

Dean stares. He’s not sure what the meat comes from, but he’s beyond caring at this point. He tears into it with his bare hands, since Castiel didn’t give him any utensils, wolfing down the meat and the bread with it.

“Why are you helping me?” he asks when he’s finished, wiping his mouth on his sleeve.

Castiel shrugs. “You are interesting.” He goes down the ladder again and comes back with a pile of blankets, which he throws on the floor. “Get some rest.”

Dean lies down, but he can’t sleep. The only thing keeping Castiel from killing him is novelty. Once he’s no longer interesting, he’s as good as dead.  



	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Planet of The Angels AU. Dean ends up in a strange place that's entirely populated by what looks like humans with wings. He's taken prisoner by one of the winged people. It calls itself Castiel.

When Dean wakes up, he’s disoriented, bolting upright and almost whacking his head on the window frame.

He remembers after a moment, and falls back onto the bedding. Trapped, even more than before, captured by some feathery psycho who’s likely to kill him at a moment’s notice.

He tries the trapdoor leading downstairs and is surprised to find it unlocked. Maybe he can sneak out.

When he gets halfway down the stairs he hears voices from another room. He sneaks over to the door and presses his ear against it.

“You’re getting lazy,” a strange voice says. “If you don’t work on your sparring more you’ll be set out for the raiding parties.”

“I still win most of my bouts!” Castiel’s voice protests.

“Yes, but for how long? Raphael is getting better every day. Sooner or later he’s going to beat you more than three times in a row. Unless you want to become one of the _chaltenya_ you need to apply yourself more.”

Dean feels his blood go cold at that, and doesn’t know why. If Castiel loses his wings, or whatever the other person is talking about, he can escape.

Castiel sighs. “I will, Michael.”

There’s a scrape of wood against stone, and Dean realizes they’re getting ready to leave through the door he’s standing near. He conceals himself in an alcove and sees a man with dark hair and midnight blue wings exit the room, Castiel after him.

The man doesn’t look around as he leaves the cottage, and it’s a good thing, since as soon as Castiel turns from shutting the door his eyes land on Dean and narrow dangerously. “I told you to stay upstairs! If Michael had seen you…”

“Yeah, yeah,” Dean says. “He’d kill me. But what about you? Sounds like you’re getting kinda rusty. Not as good as you once were.”

Castiel’s eyes flash. “I don’t appreciate eavesdroppers. And I assure you, I’m more than capable of disposing of you.”

“Uh-huh. But I’m just a human, not a kalinka or a Chewbacca or what the hell ever.”

Castiel looks at him blankly. Dean sighs. “What was that about ‘more than three times in a row’?”

“If one of the _kalethin_ is beaten more than three times in a row by the same opponent their wings are cut off and they are exiled,” Castiel says absently. “Once that happens, they’re easy prey for other clans looking for slaves.”

“That’s sick!”

Castiel shrugs. “It is the way of things.”

“So what are you going to do about it?” Dean asks.

“Nothing.”

“ _Nothing?_ You’re in danger of being enslaved and having your wings cut off and you’re not going to _do_ anything?!”

“I’m not in danger. There are very few _kalethin_ skilled enough to offer me a challenge,” Castiel says, and Dean shivers, since it’s not said like a boast, just a fact.

“So practice with me.”

Castiel’s head tilts to the side. “I beg your pardon?”

“Look, you need to practice, and I need to learn to defend myself against you guys, right? So why not teach me to fight?”

Castiel considers for a long moment, then nods. “Very well.”

***

The next day Dean’s regretting his offer.

Castiel had found him a spare set of armor and a sword and they’d started sparring. It’s obvious that he’s holding back, a lot. He’s not using his wings, for one thing, and Dean has an idea they can be pretty devastating weapons. That, and the training Dean’s already had, are the only things keeping him from being skewered, since he knows fuck-all about what to do with a sword.

He’s not exactly out-of-shape, but he’s out of breath from keeping out of the way of Castiel’s blade. Every time he tries to land a blow of his own Castiel just sort of…flows out of the way. He doesn’t even look like he’s working at it.

Castiel’s sword swishes at his abdomen, and Dean jerks back. Dean stabs at Castiel’s side, but he swats the sword aside almost contemptuously.

Castiel spins his sword somehow and knocks Dean’s flying, then forces him to his knees with the sword against his chest. “Do you yield?”

Dean puts his hands up. “I yield,” he says, feeling that shiver again, and Castiel puts his sword away and holds out a hand. Dean takes it and Castiel pulls him to his feet. His palm is completely dry–he hasn’t even worked up a sweat.

“Have you ever picked up a blade before, Deanwinchester?”

“No. Well, knives, sure, but not…” he gestures at the sword on the floor in the corner.

Castiel cocks his head at him. “But you have obviously had some training in fighting techniques.”

Dean nods. “Yeah. My dad, he…” He stops. Doesn’t want to talk to Castiel about Dad, doesn’t want to think about him when he’s stuck here.

“You acquitted yourself well.”

“Thanks,” Dean says, since it doesn’t seem like Castiel’s the sort of guy to give insincere compliments.

***

Dean stays cooped up in the attic for three days, since he never knows if someone besides Castiel is going to be in the house. He’s going stir-crazy.

Castiel brings his food up and leaves, and practically the only time Dean has left the attic is to use the bathroom, which is rudimentary at best, but at least it’s indoors, otherwise he might be stuck using a chamber-pot.

He and Castiel still spar in the evenings, and after the initial session (where Dean had apparently impressed him) Castiel takes some time to teach him how to use a sword.

Dean lies back, staring at the ceiling and remembering. Holding a sword wasn’t too different from holding a knife, so Castiel hadn’t had to teach him that, but he’d taught him some basic moves and countermoves.

They can’t spar outside, and the main room of the cottage is still fairly small, not allowing much room for maneuvering, but they manage.

He hasn’t managed to score a hit on Castiel yet, but he’s making him work a hell of a lot harder to avoid it, so that’s something.

He sits up at the sound of a bump from downstairs, and what sounds like a curse. He freezes. Did someone break in while Castiel was gone? But it’s the middle of the day, they’d be seen…

He picks up his sword from the corner, and his gun too, since he doubts he’s good enough to dissuade an intruder with the sword, but he can shoot them just fine.

He gets to the bottom of the stairs and stops dead. It’s not an intruder. It’s Castiel. And his right wing has a huge gash in it. It’s almost half-severed. He’s fumbling around in a wooden box, muttering to himself.

“What the hell happened?”

Castiel jumps, hisses in pain, then turns around. “I thought I told you to remain in the attic.”

“Look, can we argue about my not doing what I tell you later? Who did that?”

“Raphael. He beat me in a bout.”

Dean feels a chill thread down his spine. “The guy Michael was talking about?”

Castiel nods. “I will beat him next time.”

“You won’t be doing anything if you don’t get that fixed! Jesus, they slice you open and just leave you to bleed?”

The bleeding is some of the worst that Dean’s seen. The feathers are soaked to halfway down Castiel’s back. He supposes the wings must have a lot of blood vessels in them. He wastes a moment wondering what good they do, since it’s not like they’re big enough so the _kalethin_ can fly.

“It is the way of things,” Castiel says, and Dean’s really getting sick of that phrase.

“Whatever, you need to _fix_ it, ASAP!”

Castiel cocks his head at him. “A sap?”

Dean growls “It…never _mind!_ Where’s your first aid kit?”

Castiel gestures to the box and Dean grabs it out of his hands. He digs around and finds a needle and thread at the bottom.

“I will–”

“Like hell you will! You wouldn’t even be able to see it without a mirror, now hold still!”

He’s expecting an argument, but Castiel doesn’t move. Dean can’t see the injury through all the blood, so he gets a cloth and uses the last of the bucket of water to clean it off. Castiel can get more from the well later.

He threads the needle and pushes the edge of the wound together, stitching it shut. He’s had plenty of practice at this, at least. Castiel tenses, and Dean can feel his wing trembling, but he doesn’t make a sound.

When Dean’s done he pulls away, wiping his hands on the bloodstained cloth. “There. Now at least you won’t bleed to death!”

“Thank you, Deanwinchester.”

“Yeah, whatever. Go lie down.”

Castiel nods. “I need to rest for the bout tomorrow.”

Dean stares. “Say _what?_ ”

“Against Raphael. I need to beat him.”

“Waitwait _wait,_ they expect you to fight like _that?!_ They won’t even let you heal up first?”

Castiel shrugs, grimacing as the motion pulls at his wing. “It is–”

“I swear to God, if you say ‘it is the way of things’ you won’t be alive to fight tomorrow!”

“It is how it has always been done,” Castiel says after a moment, a light in his eyes that Dean would swear is laughter.

“Fuck you,” Dean mutters.

***

Castiel does manage to beat Raphael, but he tears his wing open again in the process, and this time Dean has a harder time fixing it, since now there are secondary tears running from the main gash.

“You people are insane!” Dean says as he stitches the wing back together. “I mean what’s the point of all this fighting? If it helped you hunt I could see, but–”

“We need to be able to defend ourselves against the raiding parties,” Castiel says.

“What are they for?” Dean asks. “I mean, why do you need…”

“We are hunters, by nature. We need slaves to work in the fields.”

“Can’t the women do that?”

“The women are needed to breed more warriors.”

And, OK, Dean’s the first to admit he’s kind of a chauvinist, but that sounds fucked up even to him. His stomach turns. “So you capture people and cut off their wings?”

Castiel nods. “It weakens them, and demoralizes them enough that they are easily controlled.”

“Man, that’s sick,” Dean mutters again.

“It is–” Castiel pauses. “Perhaps. But it has been this way for thousands of years, and there is no way to change it now.”

Dean feels another pang of homesickness. He wants to be home salting and burning corpses, not stuck in another dimension where the closest thing he has to a friend is likely to be killed at any time.

***

He worries about Castiel after that, which is insane, considering.

The next time Castiel comes back he looks OK. “How’d the fight go?” Dean asks, trying to sound casual.

“It went well. I beat Zachariah for the fourth time. He is old, not what he once was.”

“So…so he’s gonna be exiled?”

“Yes.”

Dean feels a pang of guilt at that, but it’s one less person for Castiel to have to go up against, so it doesn’t last long.

Dean keeps track of Castiel’s fights. He beats someone named Adnachiel twice, but then Adnachiel beats him and resets the count. He and Baruchiel seem evenly matched–one time Castiel would win, the next time he’d lose.

Dean worries every day until Castiel gets back.

Castiel’s wing heals up, and he doesn’t get injured that badly again, although there have been a couple times Baruchiel banged him up.

***

About a month after he captured him, Castiel brings two plates of food up. He sets one in front of Dean and sits down across from him.

Dean raises an eyebrow, but just starts cutting his meat.

“I know little of you.”

“Hm?” Dean looks up to see Castiel peering at him. Dean’s struck again by how blue his eyes are, and realizes with a small shock that he hardly noticed Castiel’s wings. Before he was trying not to stare at them and now they barely register.

“You have been here some time, and know something of us, but I know little of you or your world.”

OK, yeah, it makes sense that Castiel is curious, but Dean’s not sure how much he wants to tell him. “It’s…complicated. I don’t know if you have a lot of the things here that we do.”

“Tell me anyway.”

Dean nods. “My mom…she was killed. By a demon.” At Castiel’s inquisitive look, he elaborates. “Demons…they don’t live where I come from, at least not in the place I live. They live in Hell…that’s a place you go when you die if you’ve done bad things, I guess. But they can take people over, make them do things.”

“Is this what happened to your mother?”

Dean shakes his head. “It didn’t possess her. It just killed her. Burned her.” He swallows. “My dad…he got obsessed with finding the thing that killed her. He was in the Marines…that’s a military organization, they’re kinda like you guys–”

“Which is where you learned how to fight,” Castiel says.

Dean nods. “I was four when Mom died, and Sammy–that’s my brother–he was only a baby. Dad found out as much as he could about supernatural stuff and raised us to fight it. We haven’t found the demon yet, but we killed a bunch of other stuff.”

Castiel nods, but doesn’t say anything.

Dean sighs. “It kinda sucks sometimes, though. I mean, most people don’t believe in demons or ghosts or whatever, and a lot of the stuff we have to do isn’t legal, so we need to keep moving, stay away from the cops…the authorities.”

“Then why do it?” Castiel asks.

“Needs to be done. There are nasty things out there and someone’s gotta protect people from them. If we can save other families from what happened to us, that’s enough.”

“So it is just the three of you? No other family?”

Dean winces. “Two of us. Sam…he didn’t like hunting. Wanted to get married, have a family…a normal life, y’know? So he left a couple years ago to go to school. Haven’t heard from him since.”

“I see.” But Castiel doesn’t say anything else, and Dean’s grateful.

“What about you?” Dean asks after a moment, trying to redirect the conversation. “You got any family?”

“A brother, yes.”

“Older or younger?”

“Older. His name is Gabriel.”

Dean has a nasty thought. “Do you have to fight each other?”

Castiel nods. “We do. He was disciplined for it three years ago.”

“Why?”

Castiel sighs. “He had beaten me three times. When we fought again he let me win.”

“Disciplined how?” Dean asks, a chill threading down his spine. “They didn’t…”

“No, they didn’t cut his wings off,” Castiel says, “But he was deprived of food and water for three days and told that if he did it again they would.”

Dean shudders. He can’t blame the guy. If it had been him and Sam…no, he understands completely.

“After that he worked with me, helped me learn to fight better. Now he and Michael are the only ones who can beat me with any frequency.”

“You and Gabriel…are you close?”

Castiel nods. “He used to come over fairly frequently, but I’ve made excuses for the last month or so.”

Because Dean’s there. Dean thinks of Sam, and doesn’t want Castiel drifting apart from his brother because of him. He coughs. “Well, look, if…if you want to have him over, go ahead. I’ll stay up here.”

When Castiel looks at him curiously, he continues hastily, “I mean, you don’t want him to get suspicious.”

Castiel nods slightly. “Thank you, Deanwinchester.”

After he’s left Dean curls up in the bed, missing Sam so much it’s almost a physical pain.

***

The next day Castiel says, “I’ve invited Gabriel over to spar tonight.”

Dean nods. “OK. I’ll keep outta sight.”

Castiel leaves and Dean sighs. A few hours later he hears the clash of blades outside and looks out the window. He looks outside and sees Castiel in a dirt practice yard, facing another one of the _kalethin._ He’s shorter, with light brown hair and golden wings. But Dean doesn’t pay much attention to him, since this is the first time he’s seen Castiel fight someone else.

He’s almost inhumanly graceful, dodging from side to side, darting in to strike underneath Gabriel’s arm, where there’s a gap in his armor. Gabriel moves aside and slices at Castiel’s neck, forcing him to duck.

Castiel snarls and binds Gabriel’s blade the way he had Dean’s the first time they fought, sending it to land point-down in the dirt.

Gabriel looks at him with wide eyes, and for a moment Dean thinks he’s angry, but then he laughs and claps Castiel on the shoulder.

They go inside after that. Dean hears them in the main room. He can’t tell what they’re saying, but he can tell by the tone that they’re just as close as Castiel said. Gabriel laughs at something Castiel says, and a moment later Castiel laughs too.

Dean feels a flare of irrational jealousy. He’s never heard Castiel laugh before. It’s ridiculous–Gabriel is Castiel’s brother. Why _shouldn’t_ he make him laugh?

He finally hears them get up and go to the door. After a moment Castiel comes up the stairs with a plate.

“Gabriel is pleased with my progress,” he says.

Dean nods. “That’s good.”

“My progress is partly due to practicing with you.”

Dean snorts. “Yeah, right! I’m no kind of a challenge!”

“You do not give yourself enough credit. You are quite good with a blade, especially considering that you came to it so late.”

“Thanks,” Dean says, feeling a little better.

“I have already eaten, but I will keep you company if you like.”

“Nah, man. I’m…I’m kinda tired. Think I’m gonna eat and then crash.”

Castiel gives him a narrow look, but nods. “Sleep well, Deanwinchester.”

“Yeah, you too Cas,” Dean says before he thinks. Where had that come from?

But Castiel doesn’t seem to mind the nickname. He just puts a hand on Dean’s shoulder and squeezes, then leaves. Dean pushes his food away and stares out the window, wondering if he’ll ever get home.  



	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Planet of The Angels AU. Dean ends up in a strange place that's entirely populated by what looks like humans with wings. He's taken prisoner by one of the winged people. It calls itself Castiel.

Dean’s decided he’s not going to stay cooped up in the house anymore. If he’s going to figure out how to get home he can’t do it sitting in Castiel’s attic all day.

Castiel doesn’t agree. “If you’re seen–” he starts, wings half-spread in agitation.

“I don’t care! I have to get home! I’d rather be dead than stuck here.”

Castiel’s face abruptly loses all expression, and he nods tightly. “Very well.”

Dean winces. “Cas, I didn’t mean…I don’t _fit_ here, I can’t even risk going outside…”

Castiel sighs heavily. “I know. I’d feel the same in your place. What do you need?”

“Well, first off, I want to get a closer look at that field I showed up in.”

***

That night they sneak out, and Dean finds his way back to the field where he first appeared. He takes a deep breath, feeling the cool night air on his face, smelling the grass and soil. There’s nothing unusual, no holes in the air, or weird growths or anything. “Wish I had my EMF meter,” he mutters.

“Your what?”

And now he’s talking to himself. Great. He shakes himself out of his thoughts, turning to Castiel. “Tool I use. Might help me find something.”

After a few minutes he kicks at the ground. “Dammit. There’s nothing here.” He looks around one more time, but yeah, nothing. He sighs. “Might as well head back.”

He feels the weight of Castiel’s hand on his shoulder. “We’ll keep looking.”

“Yeah. Sure. Thanks, Cas.”

“Gabriel may know something. I’ll ask him.”

Dean snorts. “How? ‘Hey, Gabriel, do you know anything about a portal between dimensions, because there’s this guy who wandered through it and I’m trying to get him back’?”

“I can be more subtle than that. Trust me.”

And, God help him, he does.

***

When he next sees Castiel, rather than asking if he talked to Gabriel Dean blurts out, “Why do you have wings?”

Castiel cocks his head at him. “I beg your pardon?”

“I didn’t…I mean in general. They’re too small to let you fly, so what’s the point? They should be vestigial at best.” It’s been bugging him ever since he showed up here–there’s no reason for it–but he hadn’t meant to say anything. For all he knows he’s violating some taboo.

Castiel doesn’t take offense though, just settles down near the window. “There are stories that the _kalethin_ were once able to fly. And our wings still help us fight.”

Dean nods. He supposes that makes sense. If the _kalethin_ with the largest or strongest wings are the best warriors it would give them an advantage and be enough to keep the genes for the wings active. And he’s glad it is, since he doesn’t think Cas would be Cas without wings. They’re beautiful. And, what the hell? What’s wrong with his brain since he came here? “I wish I had wings,” he murmurs and winces. Apparently not only are bizarre thoughts crossing his mind, they’re exiting his mouth without his permission.

Castiel is looking at him, so he continues in a rush, “I mean, if I had wings I could at least go outside without worrying about being killed.” That’s not all of it, not anywhere near. He hasn’t felt the sun in forever, and he used to spend a lot of time outside, or at least driving down the highway. He spares a moment to wonder what happened to his car, if it’s been stolen or vandalized. And yeah, it’d be nice to go outside again. But that’s not all of it.

Castiel squeezes his shoulder again. “You don’t need wings.”

Dean swallows thickly, and lifts his hand to lay it over Cas’. He figures the chick-flick moment is excusable, considering.

“I asked Gabriel if things ever appeared that looked out of place,” Castiel says, pulling his hand away. Dean lets him, reluctantly.

“What’d he say?”

“He said there are stories of strange animals appearing periodically.”

“What kind of animals?”

“Small ones, mostly. Things with spines on their backs. Striped things that made a bad smell. Things with flat, broad tails and large teeth.”

Dean thinks a second. “Porcupines. Skunks. Maybe beavers?”

“You are familiar with them?”

“Yeah. I think they’re all from Minnesota. That’s where I was before I ended up here.”

“So there is something that connects your world to mine. And the stories go back for hundreds of years.”

“So it’ll probably happen again. But there’s nothing to say when.”

“Not necessarily. From what Gabriel says, the sightings happened about every three months.”

“A month is thirty days?” Dean says, just to make sure, since God only knows how the _kalethin_ measure time.

“Twenty-eight. But as I said, it’s approximate.”

“I’ve been here…” Dean thinks, “About two months. So it should open again in a month and I can go home.”

“Yes.” But Castiel doesn’t sound happy about it, and Dean’s not exactly thrilled either.

***

Dean spends the next week or so conflicted. He’s incredibly relieved that there is a way back, that he won’t be stuck here for the rest of his life, but at the same time he doesn’t want to leave. He’s been hunting solo at least half the time since Sam left, and it’s lonely. Cas is good company.

But then he’s abruptly shaken out of his melancholy, since Cas fights Michael and loses.

 _It’s fine, it’s fine,_ Dean tells himself as he patches Cas up. _It was only one fight._ But it doesn’t do anything to calm him down. _‘Gabriel and Michael are the only ones who can beat me with any frequency...’_ Shit.

“You’ll get him next time, Cas,” Dean murmurs, not sure who he’s trying to convince.

Castiel nods, wincing as he stands up. “I appreciate your help.”

Dean snorts. “If it weren’t for you I’d probably be dead by now. It’s the least I can do.”

***

Cas doesn’t get him next time. Two days later Michael beats him again.

“We gotta practice more.”

Castiel agrees, even though he and Dean both know that he isn’t anywhere near as good an opponent as Michael.

They practice for two weeks, while Michael fights other _kalethin._ Cas is completely focused on what he’s doing, and beats Dean every time. But they both know that doesn’t mean anything.

Dean spends the entire day Cas is fighting Michael pacing back and forth across the attic. This is the third fight. If Cas doesn’t win he’ll only have one more chance to beat him before he has his wings cut off.

Dean doesn’t even have wings, and he’s getting sympathy pains. He can’t imagine the agony that Cas would go through. And Cas’ wings are beautiful. In the beginning Dean thought they were weird, but now they’re just a part of him, and he can’t imagine Cas without them.

When Cas gets back he doesn’t even need to ask how the fight went. He can tell by his expression.

“You still have one more chance. Don’t worry.”

“Yes,” Cas says, but his lips are thin, and his wings are slicked back close to his body, as if to protect them from harm.

***

The first time they spar after that, Dean’s not thinking. He’s worried, and angry, and Cas disarms him more quickly than he did the first time they fought.

“Dean. You’re reacting, not thinking. You’re better than this.”

True enough. Dean can hardly even see, he’s been trying so hard to keep back tears. “But if he beats you–”

“If he beats me my wings will be removed and I will be left out for the raiding parties.”

“And that doesn’t _bother_ you?”

“Of course it bothers me. But worrying about it will only make me more likely to make a mistake.”

“Yeah. Yeah, I guess so.” Cas is a lot calmer about it than he would be. If Dean knew there was a better-than-even chance he’d be sentenced to die in the morning he sure as hell wouldn’t be so blasé about it.

“Get some rest. One way or another, it will be over soon.”

Dean lies down, but he stares at the ceiling all night long, wondering what he’ll do if Cas loses.

***

In the morning Castiel puts on his armor and sword with the air of someone performing a ritual. Dean’s put his gear together the same way right before going after a monster he’s not sure he can beat.

When Castiel is ready Dean sticks out his hand. Cas stares at it for a moment before taking his hand and clasping it.

“Good–” Dean coughs, then tries again. “Good luck.”

“Thank you, Dean.”

Cas leaves then, not looking back. Dean stands at the door to watch him go, his heart no longer beating.  



	4. The Way of Things

Dean only barely keeps himself from demolishing things in his impatience and worry. He stays in the main room, risk be damned, waiting for Cas to get back.

He refuses to entertain the possibility that he won’t come back.

***

Several hours later Cas pounds through the door. His armor has been slashed, and he’s limping. “Come on!”

Dean blinks. “What?”

“No time! Come on!”

“Cas–” But Dean lets Cas tug him out the back door.

Cas’ cottage is on the outskirts of the village, and he pulls Dean into the trees.

“He beat you?” He doesn’t need to ask. There’s no other explanation for Cas’ behavior.

“Barely.”

“But–”

“I broke away from them before they could cut my wings off. We don’t have much time.”

Dean can see the scene in his mind: Michael, winded and probably bleeding, standing impassive as the _kalethin_ try to restrain Castiel and extend his wings. Cas fighting, possibly injuring some of them in the process.

And, rather than running, coming to get him.

He’s not entirely surprised when they end up in the field, not far from Cas’ cottage. It’s sunset, and there’s a weird sort of shimmer in the air, about seven feet tall and four across.

He stops.

“Come with me,” he says. “If you stay here you’re as good as dead.”

Castiel shakes his head. “Michael beat me four times. I must become one of the _chaltenya._ I merely wanted to make sure you got back to your own world before that happened.”

“But that’s sick! Your society is fucked up and wrong and you have a chance to escape it! Why won’t you?”

“It is all I’ve known.”

And, alright, fair point. But… “What is there for you here?”

“My brother…”

“But you’re going to be exiled, so you won’t see him again anyway! You told me he was punished before for keeping you from that. Wouldn’t he prefer you to be free somewhere else than a slave and a cripple here?”

Castiel hesitates, and for a moment Dean thinks he’s listening, but then he shakes his head. “No. I have to stay here. If my wings will be cut off, so be it. It is the way of things.”

“Dammit, Cas!” Dean growls, and the next thing he knows he’s grabbed hold of Castiel’s shoulders and hauled him into a bruising kiss, taboos be damned, consequences be damned.

Castiel stiffens against him, then kisses back, forcing Dean to slow down, until the kiss melts from something desperate into something aching and bittersweet.

Dean pulls back, rests his forehead against Castiel’s, his eyes burning. “I can’t lose you. I _can’t!_ ”

Castiel nods against him. “I do not want to lose you either.”

“Then why don’t–”

“No one has wings in your world. I would have to lose them anyway.”

“Maybe. But maybe we can find a way to cover ’em up, or disguise ’em or something.” Bobby would probably know something, and if not they could figure something else out. “Besides, would you rather definitely lose your wings and spend the rest of your life as a slave, or come with me and maybe have to get rid of them? I’m not chopping them off unless I absolutely have to, and even if I did it’d be a hell of a lot less painful than it would be here.” Even if the _kalethin_ have heard of painkillers they’re hardly gonna waste them on someone they’re going to throw out.

The instability shivers and contracts as Castiel hesitates again. They don’t have much time. If the _kalethin_ find them here, they’re both as good as dead.

Finally, he nods once. “Very well.”

Dean swallows and nods too. “C’mon then,” he says, grabbing Cas' hand and pulling him through the instability just before it closes.


End file.
